Spreading that Christmas Cheer
by C.Rara
Summary: So the powers-that-be have decided that Spike needs a little push on the path to righteousness and what better time than Christmas? A trip down memory lane, an exceptionally friendly angel (of the christmas, not the stupid hair and pout, variety) and a little dose of festive cheer might be all that it takes to de-grinch the snarky little scrooge. Maybe. Possibly. Probably not.


**Spreading that Christmas Cheer**

**Chapter 1**

A pile of shredded sparkly wrapping paper had been thrown into a makeshift bin in the corner of the less-than-welcoming crypt. Aside from the offending paper, balls of scrunched up sellotape and numerous empty bottles of imported beer filled the dilapidated wicker basket. More bottles, half drank and discarded, littered the floor and a toxic aroma of smoke and beer pervaded the room. A bed covered in rumpled sheets and flattened pillows had been pressed up against the far back wall, however the inhabitant had chosen to take his midday nap on the floor.

"Well" said the man with wings, stood arms folded in the centre of the depressed scene "isn't this charming?"

The blonde man woke with a graceless snort. His fingers clenched round the still-lit cigarette in his hand and he swore.

"Damn fags" he muttered almost incomprehensibly, reaching for the nearest bottle and swearing again when he found only dregs. "Oh for fucks bleeding balls sake, can't a man get a bloody drink…"

"Hate to interrupt" the man with wings said idly, walking towards his angry companion "but I need to interrupt".

To his credit, the blonde man was able to maintain coherence in spite of his palpable shock.

Looking like he'd seen, well, something more surprising that a ghost, since ghosts were a reasonably regular phenomenon in all his usual haunts, the blonde man staggered back and took a defensive pose.

"Who, or rather, what are you supposed to be, and exactly why shouldn't I rip your feathery wings off and beat you to death with them for breaking into my private property, you pixie-arsed ponce?" the blonde man inquired.

"Call me what you like, my dear" the winged man said with a cheerful smile "Last chap called me Clarence, girl before named by MableBob- strange girl, nice family- and the old man before thatcalled the police, haha, and a good few names that I shall not be repeating".

The blonde man stared further, uncomprehendingly.

"And by all means, darling, give it your best shot. These wings are a pain in my actual backside." The man smiled cheerfully, winking at his own clever wit.

"Spoken like a true prat" the blonde man said. He shook his head and glared back with a monstrous face and large flashing teeth pulled back into a horrendous mockery of a smile. "With your invitation…"

The blonde man lunged with startling speed and arms outstretched towards the winged man, his mouth wide open and growling and his eyes wild. He sailed through the man as if he were mere mist, though he had stood solid and tangible moments before, and hit the cold floor with disorienting force.

The man with wings showed no hint of surprise.

"So" the blonde man muttered, heaving himself up from the floor angrily "You're a god-damn apparition, thinking it'd be funny to pull one over on ol' Spikey boy, huh?"

Spikey-boy looked very annoyed as he shrugged his jacket back into place, his 'normal' face reinstated but not looking much less murderous.

"Well here then, I cast you out you immaterial bastard, I cast you out, piss off and bibbity-bop someone else's crypt. Merry fucking Christmas and sod off".

"No can do, sweetheart" the man said sadly, flapping his wings ostentatiously and flipping his copper-gold hair out of his eyes "you can't cast me out, I'm not an apparition. Here" he reached out and caressed the blonde vampires cheek with a sultry wink.

Spike pulled back sharply and began to look slightly more cautious.

"Thanks to progress with the union" the winged man explained courteously, as if no physics-defying inappropriate flirtation had gone down "we've got extra safety precautions in-built for when people aren't quite filled with festive cheer" he smiled, nodding at his attempted-murderer, "hence the little- ah- bippity-bop before".

There may as well have been a giant question mark tattooed over Spike's face as he stared at the non-apparition apparition.

The wings were soft, white and feathery, extending from his middle-back and proudly displayed around his shoulders and arms. As if dusted with gold, they glittered and glimmered in the light. His suit was a stunning white- _bleedin' Daz advert, in't he?-_ the vampire thought, but was perturbed enough to not speak it. A gold tie and expensive cuffs distracted from the otherwise colourless ensemble. His hair, a colour neither gold nor copper but somehow a mixture of both, was long and straight- _artificially _straightened, it looked like- and pushed behind his ears which were heavily pierced with gold studs. He smelled strongly of mulled wine, mince pies and pine tree. The overall effect was both captivating and nauseating.

"So, you're what" Spike said after a pause "a Christmas fairy what's looking for a tree to sit on?"

"Not quite" the man replied with a grin "though you're closer, sweetie-pie, I'm your Christmas angel here to do you a _massive_ favour"

The vampire raised his eyebrows.

"Sorry mate, don't really go in for all that, try the crypt on the other side of town. Thanks for stopping by."

The angel laughed again and leant against the wall.

"I have been specially selected for you, darling boy-"

"I'm pretty old" Spike interjected, raising an eyebrow challengingly

"I know" the angel smiled curiously, biting his lip for a second "but I'm older"

Spike didn't have a retort, so the angel continued.

"You're on an odd little path, aren't you dear?" The angel asked "I'm here to help. Christmas is a time for helping, isn't it? Sharing the burden, spreading the cheer" his eyes lingered on the square pink box at striking odds with the rest of the décor, next to yet more wrapping paper "and helping the helpless".

"And I'm the helpless, am I" Spike asked sceptically "not sure your managers done his research, right. Not sure I'm the one in need of Christmas aid, what with the things I've done" he finished with a grin, relishing treasured old memories.

"Yes, you were quite the little terror, judging from your file" the angel said lasciviously "not that I read it _thoroughly _mind, busy bee me, but the reader's digest version was still _quite _engaging." The angel grinned, and suddenly changed mannerism to a far more professional approach, standing upright from the wall "Still, the powers that be are suggesting that you have changed your ways, you've not killed or maimed in months- progress, dear boy, is still progress and everyone needs a little help here and there during rehab- so they've sent me down to give you a little bit of that Christmas sparkle."

Spike frowned.

"You talking about drugs?"

The angel's eyes widened in mock-horror.

"No, no, no, no, no, no" he replied, looking appalled at the suggestion "not at all, not at all, no. Well. No. I mean, not exactly. Here" and the angel pulled out from his suit pocket a little sachet of gold dust. He sprinkled it on the palm of his hand and blew a kiss to the incredulous vampire.

"Merry Christmas darling" the angel said with an eyebrow raised "Hope you've read your Dickens. Three ghosts, past present and future. One _hell _of a hangover. Missing you already sweetheart."

And before Spike could begin to comprehend what had happened, the angel vanished and the floor came swooping up towards him. Flecks of gold still floated before his eyes as his head, for the second time that hour, hit the ground. His last thought was no more inspiring, and of no more importance than this; _if the bugger can teleport why bother having wings?_


End file.
